Meetings
by Wren5
Summary: Chapter 8 Complete! Hermione follows Snape into the Dark Revels and finds herself falling into danger, suspicion, and...love?
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1  
  
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in this story are the property of J.K Rowling, the brilliant genius. I make no money off this, so all you'll get if you sue me are my gym clothes.  
  
The Dark Mark burned with unquenchable fury. Pain shot through his arm and mind as the bond between him and the monster was activated. The pain in his arm came from the mark itself; the pain in his mind came from the knowledge that this would not be an ordinary meeting.  
  
It had only been three days since the last calling. Usually the Dark Lord allowed his minions longer than that to recover from his gentle administrations. The fact that this meeting was coming hard on the other's heels was ominous. Snape shivered with uncharacteristic fear. Every time he went to these meetings, the threat of discovery increased. But if it weren't for the Cause, he wouldn't care if he were uncovered. Death would be a welcome relief from his guilt. The only reason he was alive was the Cause. If he let one thing slip, the Order of the Phoenix would suffer considerable damage and their best shot at destroying the Death Eaters' Circle would go down in smoke.  
  
"Class is dismissed." Snape sneered in response to the barely concealed glee on his students' faces. They all filed out of the room, though Hermione, Ron, and Harry looked at him in askance. Ever since they had learned of his work as a double agent in their fifth year, they had begun to grudgingly respect him.  
  
"So enamored of my presence, are you? Perhaps you're looking for extra work to make up for the short class, hmmm?" The trio hurried out the door before he could make good on his threat. Once out of his earshot, they turned to each other, each with puzzlement and concern on their faces.  
  
"The only reason he would dismiss class early is that You-Know-Who has called him. Why would the Dark Lord call him during the day, when the revels are at night?" Hermione confessed to be confused. Ron's eyebrows were drawn together as well.  
  
"Yeah. He's usually called during or after supper. Plus, the last revel was called just three days ago. You don't suppose that they."  
  
"Shush. We're not really supposed to know about this, remember?" Hermione looked over her shoulder, checking for eavesdroppers. There were none, but she lowered her voice anyway.  
  
"Listen, this doesn't look good for Snape. I know you guys still don't like him much, but we've got to do something."  
  
"Such as what, Hermione? Go ask him to take us on his little adventure?" Ron said sarcastically.  
  
"You're getting to be as bad as Snape with that sarcasm," Hermione replied heatedly. Ron turned red, making his freckles stand out.  
  
"Me? Have anything in common with that greasy git? You're."  
  
"Stop it, both of you," Harry interrupted. "'Mione is right. We have to do something. We should go to Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."  
  
"You think he doesn't already know? Dumbledore knows everything that goes on in this castle, or if not, damned close." Ron retorted. "We should leave it alone. If Dumbledore knows, he'll take care of it."  
  
"You never know. He might have missed this one. And even if he hasn't, it's our duty to tell him. Maybe he'll even agree with our idea to go after Snape." Harry insisted, with conviction. Ron sighed at that; Harry never let go of something when duty or honor was the issue.  
  
They walked quickly through the halls, stopping at the gargoyle that halted their progress. Hermione whispered the current password and they ascended into the Headmaster's office.  
  
Fawkes sang out a greeting to them and Dumbledore turned around from the bookshelf he had been perusing. His eyes twinkled as he smiled at them.  
  
"Ah, I was wondering when I'd be seeing you three in my office again. Lemon drop?" They declined politely. Albus popped one in his mouth and gestured them to sit down.  
  
"Planning on doing something with the free time you have on your hands?" They all started at that. Albus chuckled at their reactions but sobered quickly, though a slight twinkle lingered in his eyes.  
  
"Professor Snape always informs me when he is summoned." Dumbledore's brow arched as Ron mouthed, "I told you so" to the other two but he didn't comment.  
  
"Was there something you wanted to ask of me?" the headmaster asked. They looked at each other.  
  
"Well, sir, I.we were slightly worried for Professor Snape because these are unusual circumstances for him to be leaving. We were wondering if there was something we could do to help," Hermione finally managed to get out.  
  
Dumbledore pondered for a moment, sucking on his lemon drop. He was lost in thought for a long moment and the three were exchanging a glance of whether they should get his attention, when his gaze focused again. "Actually, there is." 


	2. Chapter2

A/N: I would like to thank my reviewers, Biblioholic88 and May Houston, for their input. To all others who have read the story, I hope you continue to do so, and that you follow their example and review too. ;)  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Hermione and Ron waited silently outside of Hogwarts' gates. Shrouded in the invisibility cloak, they watched as the potions master disappeared with a soft pop. Hermione let out the breath she had been holding and murmured the locating spell she had learned from Professor Flick. Thankfully it was all but unnoticeable and Snape had no reason to search for such a spell.  
  
Wishing Harry had been able to come, Hermione gathered her courage and concentrated on the image. Grateful for the extra lessons she had taken from both Professor Flick and Professor McGonagall, she reached for Ron's hand, and they Apparated with an echoing pop.  
  
There was a moment of disorientation as the world faded. Then it abruptly sprang back with an almost audible snap. Used to the side effects, Hermione quickly steadied herself, making certain that the cloak still covered them. Ron stood next to her, though just barely. He looked as though he were about to fall over; his face was slightly green, contrasting sharply with his bright red hair. If the circumstances had been different, she might have laughed. Instead, she put a finger to her lips. He gave her a withering look of scorn and rolled his eyes.  
  
They were in a dark room, lit only by a few flickering candles. Cold, grey stone surrounded them, reminding Hermione of the dungeons in Hogwarts. She smiled wryly; she'd never imagined that she would long to be there.  
  
Ten yards in front of them stood a semi-circle of black-robed wizards. Their figures cast looming shadows in the candlelight. Fortunately, they faced the opposite direction, the object of their attention hidden from view. Hermione and Ron had never seen Voldemort's face but they had no desire to; Harry's descriptions had given them all nightmares.  
  
An anguished cry tore through the room, causing them to start. It continued, rising in pitch until it sounded almost inhuman. The two shivered slightly, imagining the amount of excruciating pain needed to produce that noise. Mercifully, the scream suddenly stopped as the person was released. Amidst the whimpers of agony, a chilling voice spoke.  
  
"Ah, Cornelius. You forget the price of disappointing me. I set you a simple task and you offer excuses. I grow weary of it. Answer me truthfully, my dear boy, can you accomplish what I asked, or must I find a more.loyal.servant to replace you?" Voldemort's icy voice drifted to the corner where the two were hiding.  
  
Ron looked at Hermione in shock. "Fudge?" he mouthed. She glared at him, afraid that any movement might reveal their presence. Thankfully, for once he got the message. They turned back to the conversation.  
  
"P-p-please my lord, try to understand, it's impossible. It simply cannot be done. There is."  
  
"Enough!" the Dark Lord's voice became deadly. "The only reason I kept you alive before was your position as Minister of Magic. But now, you have failed me one too many times."  
  
"Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of bright green light and another scream filled the air. Worse than any before, it held the pain of fleeing life.  
  
It stopped.  
  
"That," Voldemort said coldly into the sudden silence, "is the price of failure."  
  
At that thinly veiled dismissal, the Death Eaters started to disappear. Clearing her head with a quick shake, Hermione took a hold of Ron's shaking hand again and, Disapparated.  
  
A/N: And a big fat thank you to my editor and best friend, the Second In line after the Supreme Ruler of Life, the Universe, and Everything, and the one who got me hooked on snarky Snape, Naseem 


	3. Chapter3

Disclaimer: The characters in this fan fic are not mine. (That's why it's called a "fan" fic.)  
  
Shocked by what they had just seen, Hermione and Ron rushed through Hogwarts' twisting corridors to Dumbledore's quarters. However, just before she uttered the password, Hermione heard a harsh voice.  
  
"Gummy Bears." It was Snape, also on his way to report. Hermione motioned to Ron and they quickly moved away from the entrance. The professor hurried up the winding staircase. After a second's hesitation, Hermione sneaked up the stairs after him, pulling Ron with her. At the landing, he turned to her, a question written on his face. Ever cautious, she motioned for him to keep quiet and turned to listen.  
  
"Severus. Have a seat. Lemon drop?" Snape sat down, but ignored the question.  
  
"Albus, Cornelius is dead," Snape replied without preamble. The twinkle faded from the old wizard's eyes.  
  
"That is disturbing news indeed," the headmaster said gravely. "He was one of our best operatives, as you well know." Dumbledore paused for a moment. "You realize that this increases the chance that you will also be discovered."  
  
"Albus, why do you insist upon revisiting topics that have already been discussed? You know my reasons for spying on Voldemort. Besides, the fact that Cornelius is dead only increases the need for my work." Snape spat out the last word. "There is no way for me to stop anyway. It is impossible to remove the Dark Mark.and you know what will happen if I refuse its pull for too long." He went silent, lost in a dark memory. The headmaster's soft voice interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"His death wasn't your fault, Severus." Snape moved slightly in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice as cold and dead as ever.  
  
"I thought you might want to know about Cornelius, Dumbledore," he said curtly, standing up. "If that is all you wished to discuss, I have classes to prepare for tomorrow." At the headmaster's nod, he swept out of the room so quickly that Hermione and Ron were barely able to move out of the way.  
  
"You may come out now." With a slightly guilty start, they shrugged off the invisibility cloak.  
  
"Sir, we can explain." Hermione began, but the wizard waved away her explanation.  
  
"I know you meant no harm. So, you witnessed everything at the meeting?" At those words, a flood of description came pouring out of them. When they were finished, Albus looked solemn.  
  
"Hmm, this complicates things a bit." He paused to think. After apparently deciding something, his eyes refocused. "Well, I'm sure Harry would like to know what happened." Hermione and Ron nodded at the dismissal and left for Gryffindor Tower. 


	4. Chapter4

Chapter 4  
  
Harry Potter was livid with barely contained fury. He paced the room, thirteen steps from door to wall, thirteen back again.  
  
*Goddamn this bloody scar! I'll rip out his throat. I'll hex him into the next millennia. I'll.*  
  
His silent death threats were interrupted by a resounding crash as his door nearly flew off its hinges. Harry jerked around, whipping out his wand. High off pent-up anger, he almost didn't recognize Hermione and Ron.  
  
"Don't you two know how to knock?" he snapped. His comment went unnoticed.  
  
"We don't owe him a bloody thing! Next time we could bloody well get caught and I don't even want to *think* what would happen then. Best friends to the Boy-Who-Lived?" Ron shuddered. "We might as well drink Morte Morbid and be done with it!"  
  
"What will happen if Snape gets killed like Fudge?" Ron winced. "With our information source gone, there's no doubt we will lose the war."  
  
"What the hell do you think we'll be able to do, Hermione? If You-Know-Who decides to.well, how are we going to stop him? Besides, do you really think Snape would appreciate our help? He'd likely turn, sneer at us, deduct a few hundred points for being off Hogwarts' grounds, and then stalk back down to the dungeons." Ron paused for a moment. "I wouldn't mind a new potions teacher anyway."  
  
"I can't believe you're willing to turn your back on the man that has saved your life! You're a coward, Ron. It's a wonder you were put in Gryffindor." Hermione swept out of the room, leaving Ron and Harry to stare after her, jaws slack.  
  
*****  
  
The library's familiar, slightly musky smell enveloped Hermione, the long rows of bookshelves bringing a calm that had been missing since potions class. She sighed, but forced it out of her mind, and moved to the nearest bookcase.  
  
Though uncertain as to what information she was looking for, Hermione ran her hand over the spines of the books. Potions with Potential. Brewing Bravery. Using Your Unicorn Hairs. Damn wizard authors and all their awful alliterations and assonances, Hermione thought with a wry smile.  
  
Her hand stopped. It was unknown to her, which was peculiar since she had read many of the books in the unrestricted section. The silvery material seemed to flow in her hands and the black letters were fluid and gleaming, creating a dizzying optical illusion. It took her eyes a while for the title to register. The Invisible Book of Invisibility. Her eyes widened; the book had been discontinued due to the fact that no one could find them.  
  
She had to read this book. It was nearly a compulsion. Hermione Granger could not resist reading a new book.  
  
She chose another potions book as well to ensure the librarian would not become suspicious. After all, Miss Granger would never leave the library without a book. And, since the book was obviously mistakenly placed in the potions section, the book must have been unknown to the library staff.  
  
Hermione forced herself to walk slowly up to the check out counter. Madam Pince raised an eyebrow at her selection. Hermione looked down at the book and realized for the first time which text she had picked up in her rush. Potent Love Potions. She blushed.  
  
"Just academic curiosity," she said at the silent inquiry.  
  
"Indeed," Madam Pince replied. The librarian's hand brushed The Invisible book of Invisibility as she returned the other to Hermione, but she didn't seem to take notice.  
  
Very strange, Hermione thought. I wonder why that is. However, she didn't stop long to ponder the question. She picked up the two books and walked calmly out of the library, her stomach fluttering in anticipation.  
  
A/N: I'm sorry about the delay. Writer's block can be bloody annoying, especially when I want to know how the story ends up as well. *grins I'm sure you're all ready to rip my head off now, but then I wouldn't be able to finish it. ;) I'd really appreciate any feedback that my readers have, even the "constructive criticism" of flamers. It helps me write more when I know someone out there actually cares about my work. However, you'll all have to deal with my procrastinating nature and slow progress. Some of it is my fault, but some isn't. March will be a busy month for me, and I might not have much time to write. So I apologize before hand. 


	5. Chapter5

A/N: Sorry about any false hopes that were created earlier. My beta reader was trying to figure out how to write italics before I could post this chapter. I wouldn't have been able to do so myself. I'm a dunce at computers. Also, much thanks to Jwaits for her help with the formating. So, without further ado, here is the real chapter 5.  
  
Being Head Girl had its perks. They didn't often outweigh the extra work and responsibilities, but at times, Hermione was grateful for the position. Her own room complete with wards, for example, was one of those perks. And she had never been happier about the privacy than now. After all, it would be a strange sight indeed if someone were to walk in while she was "pretending" to read. Her reputation for acting weird would go through the roof.  
  
She walked into the carpeted parlor, and heaved a sigh of relief at finally reaching safe haven. No matter how much time she spent in them, the rooms always gave her some kind of comfort. They were opulent almost to extremity, but she was partial to crimson and gold. A Slytherin, on the other hand, might've had a few complaints to lodge.  
  
She hung her robes on the knob next to the door. They were only required in the hallways and classrooms, thankfully. Although she didn't mind wearing them normally, the extra weight tended to distract her while studying.  
  
The fireplace roared, lit by the password in case she would forget otherwise. A wave of her wand combined with a small incantation and her rooms were filled with soft classical music. Background noise often helped her concentrate on work. She'd grown accustomed to blocking it out with a part of her mind while rooming with Lavender and Parvati, and that part tended to protest if it wasn't kept occupied. Besides, a Muggle experiment had proven that listening to classical music helped improve the mind. Hermione smirked and wondered what the results would've been if the study had been on teenage girl conversations. At times, she had almost felt herself becoming stupider by the second.  
  
Crossing the living room, she entered the bedroom. She kicked off the uniform shoes and slid her feet into the pre-warmed slippers by her bed. Then, setting the potions text deep in the back of the borrowed books shelf in case anyone should visit, she shook her head at her own stupidity. Love potions? What had she been thinking? Apparently not much, distracted as she had been by the prospect of the new book. Well, it was as good a cover as any, not as though she had needed one, it seemed. The book appeared to have a protection on it that limited who could see and feel it. That explained why Madam Pince had not noticed the shelving mistake or the fact that Hermione had taken it. The spells placed on the book must have been powerful indeed; they had also slipped through the library wards that prohibited any text from leaving the premises without being checked out.  
  
Hermione placed the book in question on the desk beside her bed and studied it. Again, the title swam before her eyes. She hoped fervently that the writing inside was different, or she'd be unable to stand it for more than an hour. Besides, her parents wouldn't be happy if she needed corrective lenses.  
  
Hands shaking slightly, she opened the book.  
  
Both disappointment and elation raced through her when she saw it was ordinary inside. Yellowed parchment that was rough and unpleasant compared to the cover met her hands.  
  
There was an inscription on the front page.  
  
IThe Invisible Book of Invisibility: Special Edition./I  
  
Her eyes widened a bit at that but she read on.  
  
IThe teachers quizzed, their pupils replied.  
  
Rote assignments were given, rote learning applied.  
  
But old ways disappear when met by new tasks.  
  
Knowledge isn't knowing the answer, but knowing the question to ask./I  
  
She turned the page. It was blank.  
  
A/N: Sorry it took me so much time to write this. I also apologize for its length; I am simply incapable of writing long chapters. Plus, cliffhangers are very tempting and easy to write, unfortunately. My terrific beta reader is on my case about it, but it's still hard for me. For all those who are impatient for me to continue, please review. I have a few ideas but like early spring flowers, they tend to bloom slowly unless helped along. Heck, I'd even take flamers. 


	6. Chapter6

Chapter 6  
  
No matter how many times Hermione flipped through the book, the pages were still blank. Thinking perhaps the words were ensorcelled with invisible ink (appropriate for a book of this type, she thought wryly), she recited every revealing spell she remembered. None worked.  
  
Growing frustrated, she muttered some curse words that even Harry and Ron would have been surprised she knew. However, the book remained unmoved by her unseemly display, its pages taunting her.  
  
"How do I make these bloody words visible?" She finally shouted, exasperated. Shock froze her face as words formed on the erstwhile empty pages.  
  
iThere are several techniques for revealing hidden messages. Visibility charms are the most commonly used forms. The first is the Aparecio charm, which unveils the most basic of concealing charms and thus is normally used by lower level magicians.  
  
The second charm is Variabilis Status Redit. This switches things back to their original status. Used mainly in decoding messages, it is performed by the Ministry of Magic and is unknown to the general population.  
  
There are also potions which can expose writings. The most common is Escriverum, a liquid variant on Aparecio, combined with some aspects of the Veritaserum potion. It reveals invisible messages, but only those parts that are true. For obvious reasons, this is sometimes undesirable, especially when the user wishes to catch the writer in a lie.   
  
There is also the highly dangerous Parevium. This combines the talents of Escriverum and Variabilis Status Redit, and, if brewed correctly also allows the user to learn who had written the message. Extremely difficult to concoct, it is not often used./i  
  
Shaken out of her shock by the book's good sense, Hermione turned back to the first page and reread the poem. She smacked herself on the head for being so dense. "Knowledge isn't knowing the answer, but knowing the question to ask." In her rush to solve a complex problem, she hadn't seen that the answer was so simple.  
  
She returned to the information page. It was blank again. She grinned and asked another question.  
  
"How do I reveal an invisible person?"  
  
iThere are a few ways to unveil an invisible person, all of which depend on the method of invisibility. The extremely common "don't-notice-me" spell is easily detectable. This charm only works directly in sight of the would- be observer. When in the peripheral vision of the watcher, the spelled person flickers. Thus, the observer should continually be on the hunt for movements to the side of their line of vision. Once the watcher has seen the invisible person, they must keep them in their peripheral vision and cast "Reserat Faciem."  
  
Most other invisibility spells are easily dismissed by "Serenat Obumbrata," which can be cast on a single person or on a room in general. Cloaks charmed for permanent invisibility are impossible to detect, which makes them extremely valuable. However, they are also very difficult to create. There are only five known to exist./i  
  
Hermione's eyes went round. Harry's cloak was very valuable indeed. However, if they were undetectable, how had Mad-Eyed Moody seen Harry? That warranted later thought.  
  
"How do I become invisible?"  
  
*As implied before, there are a few different ways to become invisible.  
  
i Charms include the don't-notice-me spell, which has previously mentioned flaws, and "Velata Tenet," which hides the witch or wizard only if they hold their wand in their hand at all times, as the incantation is connected directly to the wand's core./i  
  
The third charm sounded like a possibility. She'd just have to remember to keep contact with her wand. The writing continued after another short pause.  
  
iThere is also a potion, "No Ha Mirado," which will render the brewer completely invisible and impervious to all discovering charms./i  
  
That was definitely the best option, depending on the ingredients needed. Hermione did not particularly enjoy raiding Professor Snape's stores, though she would do it for the right cause. However, there was one more question to ask before ascertaining which method to use.  
  
"How do I become visible again after drinking No Ha Mirado?" After all, Hermione was never one to shut herself in a wardrobe, literally or metaphorically speaking. And, although all charms could be dissolved by Finite Incantatemm, potions were often not so simple. Again, the book took a bit longer in its response.  
  
iNo Ha Mirado is not easily discarded. The castor must stand before what would normally hold their reflection, concentrate upon their image, and declare, "Nosce Te Ipsum" (know thyself). The difficulty lies in that the witch or wizard must have a completely truthful view of his or herself. Upon accepting not only their image, but also their inner self, the drinker will become visible again./i  
  
Hermione frowned and reread the passage, her mind working feverishly. She knew she wasn't the stereotypical confused teenager with an identity crisis, but could she accept every part of her personality? Every fear? Every desire? Every need? This potion required that she essentially recreate all aspects of herself, and such knowledge could not be found in a textbook.  
  
The witch rose agitatedly from her chair and began pacing, much to her cat's irritation: she was disturbing his beauty rest (yes, he needed it). When it became clear that she was not going to stop the world for his benefit, he stalked out of the room to find a better napping place. She never even batted an eye.  
  
Questions and half-formed ideas were racing through Hermione's head. Could she do this? Should she do this? What would it mean for her integrity if she didn't? She felt like the proverbial hamster in a cage, always moving but not going anywhere. Inspiration would strike her suddenly then fade away in a cloud of obscurity, leaving her with a dissatisfied and frustrated feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
  
Hermione was not normally one to dwell on a subject, especially since the right answer was usually found quickly, whether through a teacher or a text. She enjoyed books; their answers were always clear cut and precise, providing a bearing of sorts. Clear directions were always preferable to open ended questions and uncertainty was the bane of her existence. Ambiguity was not her best friend.  
  
With these thoughts turning about in her mind, she paced as the carpet threatened to gain a trench like Geronimo's.  
  
Hence, mind lost in thought, she didn't register the knock on the door until it sounded the second time. Startled, she hastily hid the book under a floorboard, not as though that was really needed. However, better safe than sorry, as the old saying went.  
  
"Just a minute," she shouted from the bedroom. A "finite incantatem!" and the music cut off mid-bar. Pity really, she liked that particular piece.  
  
Dissolving the wards, she opened the door just as another knock sounded. Harry waited there, hand still raised. Shocked because she really hadn't expected to see either of the boys after her fight with Ron, she stood there and forgot to invite him.  
  
"Heya Hermione. I came by to make sure you came down to dinner. I thought you might forget due to your adventure." This last was uttered with bitterness and slight envy. Ever since Cedric Diggory's death in fourth year, Harry blamed himself for Voldemort's consequent rise in power, and took every evil action by his arch-nemesis to heart. He wasn't necessarily obsessed with fighting the Dark Lord, but he definitely had a healthy dose of revenge coursing through his veins. The fact that he'd been unable to attend the day's little gathering had just added salt to the wound.  
  
Hermione snorted. "If you can call it such." There was an uncomfortable silence, which Harry ended by saying that Ron was already in the dining hall. Another silence. Hermione attempted to think of an appropriate excuse while staring at the floor, or tried to anyway. Her head suddenly felt very light, and she saw stars for a moment. A disoriented feeling came over and she felt as though she were unbalanced and falling, but when her vision cleared, she was still upright. Apparently, hunger had gotten the better of her.  
  
"You're right, Harry. I had completely forgotten about dinner. I'll be right back." She walked carefully back into the bedroom and put her shoes back on. Joining Harry back in the front room, she grabbed her robes and shut the door. After renewing the wards, they walked down the corridor to the Great Hall.  
  
Harry asked her for an account of the meeting, because although he had heard the story from Ron, even he knew the boy wasn't completely reliable.  
  
She described the Death Eater gathering in precise detail, and shivered in remembrance of the sickly green light and the screams. When she finished describing their report to Dumbledore, she paused, as if unsure as to whether she should continue. Harry encouraged her.  
  
"How did the fight start?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Well, Ron was still in shock from--" she swallowed "--Fudge's death, and was silent for most of the way. However, when I mentioned following Snape again, he lost it." She paused and shrugged slightly, "You know the rest."  
  
They reached the Hall and parted, he to the Gryffindor table and she to the Head Table. Normally, she missed sitting with her friends, but today she was grateful for the separation. Dealing with Ron's not-so-subtle, hostile glances was not a top choice on her list.  
  
"Ah, Ms. Granger. Lovely of you to join us." Dumbledore pulled out her chair for her and took his place by the next chair. At the headmaster's signal, Professor McGonagall tapped her goblet with a spoon and the din quieted.  
  
"Ordinarily, I would not prolong your suffering any more than necessary--" a small pause, Dumbledore's natural flare for dramatics "--and tonight is no exception. Begin."  
  
Food appeared on the plates and the conversations continued at their normal ear-splitting intensity. Hermione had no inclination to partake of either and sat there in silence, pushing mashed potatoes around her plate. Professor McGonagall was talking animatedly with Professor Sprout and the headmaster was chatting with the Head Boy. So, even if she had wished to, conversation was out of the question. After all, she couldn't exactly shout across the room.  
  
A thought struck her, and out of curiosity she looked down the table to check if Snape had come. He sat there, his glower as pronounced as ever, his mouth set in a straight line. Only a hot mug was in front of him, and he didn't seem to be drinking much of that. His fingers were curled around it tightly though, as if he were trying to suck all the warmth out of it. The knuckles were white and the thin, pale hands seemed almost to spasm at intervals.  
  
Suddenly, his head snapped up with almost psychic awareness and his black eyes met hers. Was it just her imagination, or had they held a flicker pain? If so, it was gone now. He resumed his habitual poisonous glare and she quickly looked elsewhere.  
  
Dinner passed at an almost unbearably slow pace. Her reluctance at staying near the now nauseous noise and suddenly sickening smells of dinner intensified. When she first perceived that she would not be terribly missed, Hermione excused herself from the Head Table and left through the teacher's side entrance.  
  
She hurried through the halls with undue haste, only stopping when she reached her rooms upon which she uttered the password and stepped through the door.  
  
After breathing in the calming scents and sights of her rooms for a moment, she suddenly wondered why she had left so early. Had it been the pressure of being there with Ron around? No, thought of him hadn't even passed through her head the entire dinner. Had it been the lack of conversation? No, she was used to silence, usually self-imposed. What had it been?  
  
The question plagued her and, although desks were all well and good for studying books, she preferred to do abstract thinking in comfort; which was not easily obtained on hard chairs, leaning over a table. So, she walked over to the bathroom and began to draw a hot bath. Ever since becoming a prefect in her fifth year, regular use of a good bath had become essential, especially due to her extra responsibilities. Her duties now as Head Girl were beyond comparison to the previous two years and at times, she had to force herself to relax; and the best way to do so was a nearly-scalding bath. Stripping as quickly as she could without hurting herself, Hermione stepped gingerly into the hot water. The temperature sent pleasant shivers down her spine as she slowly submerged into the water. She felt relaxed for the first time since that morning and allowed herself to revel in the feeling, since it was not often she could stop her thought process so completely.  
  
The problem with comfortable places to think is that the mind often wanders and sometimes, if too cozy, one tends to fall asleep, as Hermione slowly did.  
  
*****  
  
A small, faint light lay before her, and she walked towards it, curiosity compelling her steps. There were slight noises, much like voices. They were familiar, yet foreign, and she couldn't quite make them out, even though she strained her ears to understand. The need to hear what they were saying forced her forward. She drew closer to the light and voices, and as she did so, they changed.  
  
It was as though she had been blindfolded and her ears plugged. All of a sudden, she was there, truly there and completely aware of everything. And wished she wasn't.  
  
The light wasn't the pure white it had been a moment ago, but instead a bright green, a green she had seen one too many times in her life. Cold penetrated her body, and she shivered despite the fact that she was aware nerve endings didn't exist in this state. The source was that chilling voice she had been straining to hear. It calmly and deliberately said those words, those words that she despised with all her being, over and over again, until it was an unwelcome chant in her head.  
  
"Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra." Flashes of green light repeatedly lit the darkness and screams joined the voice in a terrifying mantra in her mind. Every "Avada Kedavra" was followed by a heart-wrenching scream, each of which sent another shudder up her spine.  
  
*****  
  
She awoke, sweating, to find herself still in the bath, which had by now grown cold. Shivering from the aftereffects of the dream, and the water's temperature, she wrapped a bathrobe around herself and walked back into the bedroom. Reflecting on the dream and its implications, she slowly and deliberately took the book from its hiding spot and placed it on the desk again.  
  
And asked it a question.  
  
"How do I brew No Ha Mirado?" 


	7. Chapter7

A/N: I would like to thank all of my readers for abiding patiently (though unfortunately in some cases silently) while I struggled with this chapter. I am confident that now that I have a definite outline for the next four or so, I will be posting more often. I hope the length of this makes up somewhat for the delay. Thank you to my reviewers who have helped me with both this and my other story TTT (Totally Twisted Talents), which will be posted sometime within the next week or so. Again, I'm sorry for the delay. Real life can be a bitch sometimes. For my reviewers:  
  
Shadow Fox: I'm glad you like it so far. I hope that you do read more.  
  
Lori: I'm sorry, but it would be completely unfair to my readers if I let them glimpse what I have in store for them. Therefore, I can't answer your question. However, I hope you continue to read anyway.  
  
DragonFireAngelVWP: Thank you for the review. I don't mind that it was short. Actually, it was longer than almost all others, so don't feel bad.  
  
Eegurl: I have been trying to stay true, but the fact that I don't own any of them kind of interferes with that. Of course, that's why I constantly bug my terrific beta reader, Naseem. She can catch that kind of mistake before I post. Thank you for the review. I'm sorry that it has been about a month since I posted. Thanks for reminding me. You, along with my other reviewers, are sometimes my only motivation to write.  
  
Giova: Sorry I didn't post this on Whispers, but I was anxious to post. Thank you for your continued support of my work. It really means a lot to me when a person reviews more than once. It signifies that I have not been losing readers, and that someone actually cares. By the way, the length of this chapter is for you (well, you and my beta reader, who has been hounding me for the last month).  
  
For my beta reader: Chapter 7  
  
Hogwart's hallways were always drafty, purposefully made so in the hopes that it would discourage would-be wanderers from being up past curfew. Thankfully, most of them took the subtle hint. Only the incorrigible troublemakers, the determined, or the stupid cared to roam about the castle at night. Or perhaps that was the stupid, determined, and incorrigible troublemakers? Either way, it was damnably cold.  
  
Luckily, Hermione was an intelligent and resourceful young witch. Ever since late night wanderings had become routine, she'd taken to casting a warming spell. Conveniently, it was keyed specifically to her and not the environment. Most other temperature-altering spells affected the wizard or witch's surroundings, not the person. These were dangerous for a couple reasons. One, they contributed to global warming. Two, they were a dead give-away to any semi-astute observer.  
  
Something stopped her in her tracks, literally. That was puzzling; after many hours perfecting her technique of walking while reading, she rarely collided with another person, even in a crowded hallway.  
  
"Miss Granger, it would be most advantageous if you were to watch where you were going." The cold, harsh voice of Professor Snape intruded upon her thoughts. "The point of patrolling is to be observant," he continued bitingly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor. I'll be more careful in the future," Hermione replied. In reality, she wanted to say that it was his fault as well, since collisions required two people. She was careful to keep the snide remark guarded, though. There was no point in further irritating the man; ever since the meeting two days ago, he had become almost unbearable. No one had thought it possible, but he was much worse.  
  
Her civility brought a suspicious scowl to his face, and he snapped at her.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Carry on." He briskly turned away and vanished into the shadows.  
  
Only slightly disturbed by his manner, Hermione continued to walk down the twisting corridors, mind once again captured by her little dilemma. She suddenly realized something.  
  
This was not Snape's night for patrol.  
  
The staff, including Head Boy and Girl, had a rotating schedule for what was jokingly called the third shift. There were always at least two members on duty each night, so it was not as demanding as it might have been. Her regular partner was Flitwick.  
  
So why was Snape prowling the halls tonight? There wasn't any motivation that she could discern. Unless, of course, he just suffered from insomnia. With a slight mental shrug, she moved on.  
  
The minutes slowly dragged by while Hermione wandered the hallways, body alert for the slightest movement or noise. None. It was extremely quiet and empty almost to the point of complete void.  
  
Meanwhile, her mind was double-checking the ingredients needed for the No Ha Mirado potion. The last ingredients had to be added at precisely midnight on the next new moon, the main symbol for invisibility. If they were added even a minute late, the potion was useless and she would have to wait until the next month to brew it again. These more rare components were not to be found in the Forbidden Forest, thus the obvious place was to look in Snape's stores. She knew he had them; she had taken more than just a cursory glance around while filching materials for the Polyjuice Potion in her second year. However, the question was how she would get them.  
  
Finally, one o'clock. No detentions and no point deductions. Snape would have been disappointed.  
  
Hermione sighed and retraced her steps to her bedroom. The problem would have to wait another night.  
  
*****  
  
Classes dragged by at an interminable pace: a never-ending cycle of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Herbology, Potions, and Charms. Her alienation from Harry and Ron grew even more pronounced and she was forced to sit next to the prattling Lavender and Parvati. Their incessant chatter about Witch Weekly was worse, much worse, than Quidditch had ever been. Who had the most dignified pose? Who had the most illuminating smile? Who had the nicest ass? They never said the last, but that was what it all boiled down to.  
  
And of course, Professor Trelawny and her calamitous predictions filled the other half of their brains. Hermione was nearly steaming at the ears from the constant pressure of their conversation. Day after day. Class after class.  
  
It had only been a week and a half since the meeting and her subsequent fight with Ron, but it seemed like three years. Her time was divided into listening to those two jabber, studying for the NEWTs, brewing the No Ha Mirado potion, and rereading every diary entry she had ever written in hopes of more insight into herself. The last, surprisingly enough, was the most difficult. Every day, she would float through old memories. Some of them involved self-pitying rants about one thing or another: breaking up with Viktor, being teased, receiving lower marks than expected. Others included little escapades with Harry and Ron. All of them seemed a little juvenile. Hermione closed the book with a thud and began to slowly massage her temples. The potion's preparation was halted until the new moon, but she was still worried due to the fact that she was missing some components. Time seemed at a standstill, yet she knew that it was only a matter of days before another Dark Revel was called. The need for haste seemed to beat within her head, making her even more short-tempered than usual. Point deductions and other punishments for those she discovered committing minor infractions piled up and students complained about it when they thought she couldn't hear. Dark circles from lack of sleep appeared under her eyes and the Professors sent worried looks her way when they thought she couldn't see.  
  
Sighing, she decided a change of scenery was in order. After placing the diary under the floorboard with the heaviest concealment charm she knew, Hermione headed out the door to the library. She was halfway there when she heard two sets of footsteps rushing behind her.  
  
"Hermione!" Lavender's syrupy voice (used so often to seduce boys that it was now permanent) sang out. Suppressing a groan, Hermione turned around.  
  
"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice weary.  
  
"No, but WE can help YOU," Lavender replied sweetly. "We'd noticed that you neglected your appearance lately and we decided that we should."  
  
"Give you a makeover!" The girls said together. This time, Hermione did groan, but they ignored her disgruntled demeanor.  
  
"We got some great new ideas from Witch Weekly! See? The cover says that these twenty five beauty tips are guaranteed to improve your looks!" They shoved the cover in Hermione's face, pointing to a glamour queen on the front. Indeed, that was what the cover said, word for word; garishly pink words, in anticipation for the "Holidays." After all, it was February and Valentine's Day was only a few days away. Not for the first time, Hermione thanked whatever kind spirit watching that there was NOT a ball for the occasion. The headmaster had learned his lesson from the year before. She shuddered in remembrance.  
  
Just as she was about to refuse their offer, Hermione noticed a small article title in the magazine's lower right corner: "Trying to find the real you? This technique may help."  
  
Inwardly, she sighed. Was she really going to sink so low? Well, if she was, she may as well get on with it. After all, it might be a different issue when they asked again, and she needed to see this article. Besides, if she waited any longer, it may be too late. She shied away from that thought.  
  
"Sure girls. I'd love to." She cringed to herself for the lie, but it was necessary.  
  
"Great! Can we use your rooms?" Lavender asked.  
  
"We've never been in a Head Girl's quarters before!" Parvati explained.  
  
No! She did not want them in her rooms. They would probably trash it or snoop around and find things that they shouldn't, like Potent Love Potions; she would never hear the end of that one. Or worse, The Book.  
  
"I've been in my rooms all week studying for exams. I'd rather go somewhere else. Please?" It was the please that got them; they were unused to Hermione asking them a favor. Her conscience tweaked her a bit, but she ignored it for once; sometimes manipulation was necessary.  
  
"Yeah, you haven't been up to the Common Room in ages! You should see what we've done to our old room since last year!" Parvati  
  
"Ok. I'll meet you there at eight tomorrow." That would give them enough time to be satisfied with her makeover while not enough to drive her mad.  
  
And of course, now that she dreaded tomorrow, it would come too soon, she thought wryly. The universe is perverse only because humans live in it.  
  
*****  
  
"No! Absolutely not."  
  
"But Hermione, with your face, a bobbed haircut would look soooo cute on you!" Parvati  
  
"Just trust us, 'Mione," She grimaced; she hated that nickname.  
  
"I said no. You can paint my fingernails, you can paint my toes. You can paint my face, hell you can paint my nose. But you most definitely CANNOT do anything permanent. I can wash off all of this clown's makeup but I can't automatically grow my hair," Well, that last wasn't entirely true, but they didn't need to know that.  
  
"Please?" They persisted.  
  
"No," She resisted.  
  
A small row ensued and Hermione left. On her way out of Gryffindor Tower, she nearly collided with Harry and Ron while they were entering. Ron sneered and brushed past her.  
  
"I'll be there in a minute, Ron," Harry said.  
  
"But." Ron protested.  
  
"Just because you two can't settle your differences doesn't mean that I can't talk with both of you," Harry's tone allowed no argument. Ron continued up the stairs.  
  
"Hermione-shite! What happened to your face?" She gave him a withering look.  
  
"As if you needed to ask. The Dynamic Divinations Duo decided to improve upon my looks."  
  
"Oh. Well. Anyway, I've been trying to work him around but he still dwells on your earlier comment."  
  
"Thanks for the help, but you don't really have to do this."  
  
"No problem. You did the same for me in fourth year, remember? Well, I have to get going. Ron promised me the pleasure of getting beat in chess again. And, um, don't forget to do a cleansing spell before you go out into the halls." She gave him a lopsided smile and left.  
  
*****  
  
The only problem with being devious was that in this particular instance there was no one with whom to share her ingenuity. While a copying and reduction spell couldn't be placed on the same level as inventing the wheel, Hermione still felt proud of herself. Thus, subterfuge was never her strong point; she usually felt compelled to tell the truth either because of her conscience or because of a need for acknowledgement. Normally the latter.  
  
Hermione set the magazine on the desk by her bed and walked into the bathroom to wash her face. No matter how many times she used the cleansing spell, she still felt the need to use water to rinse off. The spells seemed too much like the anti-bacterial lotion that airplane bathrooms supplied; she never felt clean. A Muggle thought, perhaps, but valid nonetheless.  
  
After drying her face on a towel (the only white thing in her entire quarters), Hermione turned back to the desk, picked up the magazine, and flipped to the article's page.  
  
Braced for the typical multiple-choice survey of inane questions based completely on stereotypes, she was surprised to find a lengthy article based on meditation.  
  
If anyone had walked in at that moment, they would have found a strange sight: Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts, not studying. The regular classical music was still playing softly in the background, the girl was still sitting at her desk, she was still wearing her thinking slippers (not the usual cap), and she was still reading; but, horror of horrors, she was reading a magazine. Now, the infraction could have been forgiven if she had been reading Popular Potions or ET: Expert Transfiguration. But no, she was reading Witch Weekly, the Cosmopolitan of the wizarding world.  
  
Said observer would probably have fainted dead away upon finding Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts, reading such gossiping garbage. Well, that was why she had wards.  
  
Closing the magazine thoughtfully, she slid to the carpet and crossed her legs as indicated in the diagram. She changed the music to that of the ocean rocking against the shore and began the slow process of meditation.  
  
"Your arm is heavy. Your arm is heavy. How does it feel when your arm is heavy?"  
  
At first, she felt completely ridiculous of repeating this unusual mantra, but after a while her arm really began to feel weighted. Amazed, she accidentally shocked herself out of the meditative process.  
  
Oh my god, it works! After a few more trials, Hermione felt secure enough to go to the next step. She picked up the magazine again and read some more. Confused a bit, but directions fixed in her head, she settled onto the floor to begin the next task.  
  
*****  
  
The sensation of flying was so intense, almost tangible. She drifted in a warm sea of oblivion, unaware that she was even alive. A sense of belonging enveloped her, even though she didn't know what she was, who she was, where she was, or why she was. She only knew that it had a feeling of complete rightness.  
  
She floated in the deepest recesses of her mind. Memories glided by her, a glimpse of red here, a snippet of music there, the smell of lilacs, the chill of a green fire.  
  
Wait! Green fire? There was no such thing.  
  
Of course. Her Muggle self retreated, leaving her with magic, powerful and awesome. A rush of understanding swept through her as the memories returned. She was at last able to recall what needed to be done.  
  
*****  
  
Hermione's eyes opened. She felt incredibly tired, as though she could not have moved even had she wished to. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her left calf, making it jolt in surprise. Pins and needles began to run up both her legs as they awoke. A bright smile crossed her face; she was successful.  
  
*****  
  
Lightning flashed, thunder crashed. Another cauldron down the drain. Students cowered, Snape glowered "Mr. Longbottom, please explain!"  
  
However, Neville was incapable of speech. The majority of the botched potion had splattered on him. He was lying prostrate on the ground, unmoving. Silence descended on the room as Snape strode over to Neville's body. He peered at the potion to note its color and viscosity as it dripped slowly from the table. Then he bent to check the boy's pulse.  
  
"He's alive," the Professor stated in a flat voice. "Unfortunately," he added with a sneer. He turned and addressed Hermione.  
  
"Miss Granger, ensure that Mr. Longbottom is taken to the hospital wing. The rest of you leave. I have to clean up this idiot's blunders." There was a general sigh of relief. Potions class was let out early again. "I expect a three foot long essay on today's potion: its ingredients, their properties, and what this foolish Gryffindor might have done to obtain such a.result." A groan from the students. "Very well then. Four feet. Ah yes, and twenty points from Gryffindor on Mr. Longbottom's behalf. Class dismissed."  
  
"Mobilicorpus," a swish and flick and Neville's body floated behind her as Hermione walked up to Madam Pomfrey's office.  
  
*****  
  
"His heart rate is stable and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. I can't do any more for him until Professor Snape arrives with his analysis of the potion. Without knowing the potion and the normal mishaps involved, I can't do much for the boy." Madam Pomfrey admitted to defeat. Hermione was about to comfort her when Snape's harsh, sarcastic voice came from across the room.  
  
"You'll find, Madam, that 'normal' mistakes do not pertain to Mr. Longbottom," he said with a sneer. "He has a unique ability of finding new methods of failing."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Snape cut her off.  
  
"The only instance where he is able to succeed is when someone is whispering answers in his ear, as you well know, Miss Granger." Her eyes flashed with anger, and she was about to do the incredibly stupid by telling him off, when Madam Pomfrey intervened.  
  
"Since you're here, Professor Snape, can we continue with the analysis?" Snape glared at Hermione.  
  
"You're dismissed."  
  
"But, sir, I could help."  
  
"You have a paper to write on the very subject we are about to discuss, Miss Granger. I wouldn't want you to feel the temptation of using the suggestions you hear in this room, rather than thinking of them on your own. You're dismissed."  
  
With a barely concealed snarl, Hermione turned on her heel and left. Once outside the hospital wing, she headed towards the dungeons. 


	8. Chapter8

Chapter 8

"Velata Tenet," Hermione whispered with a slight hitch in her voice and looked down. Nothing happened. She was still there. Then she smacked herself on the head for not thinking (she seemed to be doing that a lot lately). While most spells were not receptive toward its user's feelings, this particular one was different in that it gained strength from both the wand core and castor's willpower. Slowly, she collected herself, breathing in and out, in and out. Her heart rate slowed down and she spoke with more clarity and determination.

"Velata Tenet." She felt, rather than saw the shimmer that passed over her body. Hermione looked down. Nothing. A triumphant smile spread over her face and with renewed confidence, she turned to the door and opened it.

The dungeons were dark and unpleasantly cold and she could not cast the warming spell or a brightening spell while still using "velata tenet." Her wand could only manage one spell at a time. So, she walked into the shadows cast by a single flickering flame.  
Goosebumps ran up her arms and back, like little vermin with icy feet. Plip! Plop! The sound startled her and she twirled around to see who was there. Nothing, just water. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned back.

The dungeons were suddenly thrown into darkness, and Hermione nearly screamed. A sizzle caught her attention and she glanced down; it had only been the torch falling to the ground. Apparently, her cloak had caught on it.

The gloom surrounded her and she shivered despite the fact that she was in these dungeons nearly every day. Creepy, dark, cold. A rush of fear came over her, disrupting her concentration.  
The shimmer over her body shuddered too. Hermione shook her head and renewed her resolve. However, what to do now? Without light or guidance she could not reach the storeroom. After all, if she broke something, Snape was sure to notice. And how to relight the torch? She didn't have any matches. Besides, the wood was sopping wet by now.

Dimly, she heard Harry's voice when she had panicked while caught in the Devil's Snare.  
"Are you a witch or aren't you?" Hermione whispered a "finite incantatem" and then "incendio." The torch glowed again.

"Velata Tenet." Her success brought a silly smile to her face and she turned the corner to find herself in front of another door.

The smile became wry. It seemed that despite Snape's carefully cultivated appearance of callousness, he was concerned. The storeroom password had not been reset.

Ever since some nasty encounters with warded rooms in the past, she had taken to casting a revealing spell on her eyes daily. Like her personal warming spell, it was a very useful thing. However, unlike that warming charm it did not require her wand's strength after the casting.  
She turned the doorknob and walked in, careful to leave the door open a crack.

A flash of red: evil eyes glinting in the darkness met her. She was back in the stone room of her dream, so similar in gloom and chill. Her eyes went wide, her heart pounded, her feet stuck to the ground. She was directly in the snake's path and could do nothing to stop its strike. With that paralyzing fear her concentration on the spell was lost again. The shimmering of her body jolted her out of the terror and the metallic taste of retreating adrenaline reinforced her return to the present. Breath rushed into her lungs and she released it shakily. Deliberately, she closed her eyes and breathed in the rhythm of meditation, forcing her heartbeat to slow. When she opened them again, only vials met her. Two were filled with a radiating red liquid: blood. Shuddering, she turned away from them to begin her search. She couldn't see anything.

Bloody hell, she thought. Well, light was worth it.

"Finite Incantatem," she whispered into the dark. The shimmer of an invisibility cloak left her skin again. Then "lumos" and her wand glowed. Squinting slightly, she searched for the elusive ingredients. She knew they would not be in the front. The more rare and expensive items were in the back. Careful not to disturb Snape's organization (not that it had any pattern she could see), she read the flask labels.  
  
Half an hour later, she was still there, looking for that crucial ingredient: dragon's claw. It increased the potency, and was one of the reasons why discarding the potions' effects proved so difficult. Ah there! She reached around the other vials, and while she was in that position she heard a noise. She had miscalculated how much time she had. The door was opening.  
Snape was back.

Hermione grabbed the dragon claw, placed it in her bag, and hastily put out the light in her wand with a whispered "finiteincantatem!"

She heard a swish of robes and, apparently he had seen the door open, because he murmured something about imbeciles not being able to shut a cabinet. Energy shot through her and she quickly said "velata tenet," concentrating completely on willing herself and her bag to be invisible. Just in time, she shimmered out of existence. The door opened and Snape's shadowed face came into view. She held her breath and her will. His eyebrows knitted with suspicion as his nose twitched just a little. He shut the door.

After his robe swished out of hearing, Hermione let out the air she had held captured in her lungs. However, with that relief came the realization that now she was trapped until the next morning.  
  
She had never had to go to the bathroom so badly before in her life. Alternately crouching on the floor and standing when her legs threatened to cramp, she waited. This was worse, much worse, than the occasional game of manhunt she had played long ago. For she knew that the moment she was discovered, she would be expelled, never given the chance to explain the evidence in her bag.

Expulsion. The word held a weight in her mind and heart that no other ever had. All of her aspirations would dwindle before her eyes and she would return to an existence dull and empty without magic. And so, fear lending her strength for once, she clung desperately to the thin rope of her spell. The second she let go, Snape would come back.  
  
It became colder, night was coming. She shivered. Close-cramped walls seemed to move in, leaving her little space for air. The red light of blood threw the flask shadows into relief, elongating and shaping them. Cold stone, cloaked figures, and red eyes. The room waited maliciously for her to fail so it could breathe life to her nightmares.

Voices, whether birthed in her own head or the shadows' room, whispered around her, but she refused to listen. Her sanity a thin line, she dared not let her eyelids droop. She could not.  
Alas, a blink lasted too long. The red light faded.   
  
Hermione did not know what woke her, but awake she was. Ah, there it was: a rustle of robes just inside her hearing. Quickly, quietly, she whispered the spell again.

The noise swished by, but did not open the door. A soft sigh of relief escaped her lips. The robes swirled around, and the door was flung open again. Snape's scowl greeted her and, so happy she was to see light and a familiar face, she stood up and kissed him on the cheek.

Well, perhaps in an alternative universe she would have, but her legs were so cramped from the night that she was restrained by the pain. After a curious glance, his face left her sight and the door was closed again. Careful not to exhale again, she waited until she heard the dungeon door open and shut. Then, finally, she clambered out of the storeroom. Double-checking that she still had the potion ingredients, she glanced at her watch. Great, it was Valentine's Day. And shite! She was late. Hermione waited another minute to ascertain that Snape was gone, and then quickly walked out the dungeon door to her rooms.  
  
"Miss Granger, this is unexpected. I trust you have an acceptable excuse for being late to my class?"

"I'm sorry Professor McGonagall. I overslept," Hermione's appearance lent credit to the lie. Her hair was escaping its ties, and the bags under her eyes were a deep purple.

Her teacher gave her a piercing glance.

"Five points from Gryffindor. Now, as I was saying, I conferred with Professor Flitwick and we both considered this class advanced enough to attempt some of the more difficult applications of transfiguration." Various looks crossed the students' faces: puzzled, intrigued, and, in Hermione's case, dead tired. "Transfiguration is more than just a convenient way to create something that you do not have at hand. When combined with certain charms, the formerly inanimate object can be directed by the witch or wizard. We will be practicing this skill today."

"Solio Volubilis," Professor McGonagall waved her wand in a circle after the traditional swish-and-flick. The chairs arranged themselves into two figures much like parenthesis marks, leaving two spaces at either end. Another spell was cast and two force fields arose, one protecting each row. In the middle were two boxes.

"Now you may take your seats." The class rushed to take their seats. Hermione, not as quick this morning as expected, was left standing. On one side were two seats empty, hers and Neville's. Apparently, the latter was still unconscious in the hospital wing. Hermione flinched a little, but took her seat, one on the very edge of an opening.

"The rules of this lesson are simple. I will call out two names. Those two will each transfigure their box into another object. Then, using spells hopefully remembered from Professor Flitwick's class, the two will use their creations in attempts to pass through the opposite opening. Obviously, problems such as incomplete anatomies will present difficulties in reaching this goal. So be sure your transfiguration is complete before using the commands." Some of the students were gaping at their teacher, sure that this was an elaborate joke. Simple rules, indeed.

"Miss Brown, Mr. Finnigan. Please begin."

The two students reluctantly raised their wands and transfigured their boxes. Lavender changed the one on her right into a unicorn, pure white with a lavender horn. Seamus morphed his into a passable imitation of an ogre. They both whispered an animation and control spell, ending with a command to obey their spoken directives. Soon the air was filled with their shouts. The unicorn bellowed a challenge and charged the ogre, its horn lowered at the monster's stomach. The huge thing tried to dodge but was scored on the side.

"Oh dear!" Lavender cried, dismayed at the sight of the ogre's blood. During her lapse in concentration, Seamus' construction passed by the unicorn and entered the gate at the opposite end.

"Acceptable. However, next time, Miss Brown, try not to be squeamish. It cost you some points. Mr. Finnegan, you lose points for allowing the unicorn to draw blood." Professor McGonagall swished her wand and the boxes were in the middle again. "Next pair: Mr. Potter and Mr. Jordan. Begin."

The box on Hermione's left was transfigured into a horrible monster: half hippogriff and half cheetah; they had both tried to change the same box. The two students blushed at their mistake as laughs rippled through the classroom. After a few moments, they managed to change it back into a box.

Hermione yawned, covering it somewhat discreetly with her hand. Her eyes drooped a bit, but she pulled back to reality, forcing herself to pay attention as the cheetah attempted to pin the hippogriff to the ground. She watched for a few moments more before her eyes closed completely again. The cheers and commands became a dull murmur in her ears as her mind forgot how to process English.  
Feels so good...  
...Go to sleep...  
...Sleep...  
...Slee...

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall's voice jerked Hermione awake.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for falling asleep in my class. Your opponent is Mr. Weasley. Begin."

Her brain was scrambled; she couldn't concentrate. An errant hair tickled her face. She blew it out of the way. She needed to concentrate. A suitable animal. She couldn't think. Tired.

Ron was already shaping his box. Panic overcame her. She was going to fail. Something small. Something hard to catch. Something fast.

Damnable hair! She thought as the hair returned. She hated fly-away-hairs.

A fly! Working quickly, Hermione vanished the box. In its place buzzed a small black fly. She cast

her coercive spell and commanded it to hurry over to the goal opening. The fly just managed to beat Ron's dog in the race as the bell rang. Professor McGonagall transfigured the dog and fly back into boxes, and dismissed the class, thankfully not giving them homework.

"Miss Granger, a word if you please," the witch gestured to Hermione. "I couldn't excuse you from my class, because this was a large part of your grade, but I will give you a note for Professor Sprout so you may visit the hospital wing for a Pepper-Up potion. Try to get more sleep tonight."

"I will. Thank you, Professor."  
  
She despised Valentine's Day. No, she hated it with a passion. And with her Pepper-Up potion, she was better able to appreciate the depth of her hatred.

Deck the halls indeed, she thought. And deck the person who came up with the color scheme. Pink is a horrible color. Everywhere she went, pink pink pink. At times she wondered about Professor Dumbledore's sexual preferences.

Snape swept by her, mercifully wearing his black robes, mouth set in his customary sneer, though it did seem more venomous than usual.

At least she wasn't the only one unhappy with the situation, she thought maliciously. Misery loves company.

Well, perhaps not. Dinner in bed might be a good idea today, she thought as she walked past the Great Hall and on to her rooms. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. Lunch had been quite the affair: snogging couples, sappy love poems, unrequited love, heartaches, and of course, pink valentines. Pansy Parkinson was sure to flaunt all of her roses...again. Indeed, she did not need to suffer through that again. She shuddered in remembrance.

"My boyfriend, Draco, sent me a dozen roses today, each of them charmed to recite such a lovely poem." And then that snot had proudly shown the gossiping group her vase of roses. Right on cue it had started spewing off some of the tritest dribble that Hermione had ever heard.

"Sweet roses are red

And violets are blue

But no bloom is as pretty

As wonderful you."

Suddenly, and inexplicably, Hermione was angry. A self-disgusted sneer slid over her face as she looked in the mirror. Her features, though not drop dead gorgeous, were pretty enough to have turned some heads on the street (well, when she wasn't sneering). The wizard robes hid her figure, but she knew it was curvaceous enough to entice the other sex. Therefore, it must be her personality. QED

Her brain ticked off imaginary fingers as she mercilessly enumerated all her faults. She was too smart by half, and, although she wasn't the exhibitionist she had been, most were intimidated by that intelligence. Also, if she had to be completely honest with herself, she was often too sarcastic. It wasn't a chronic thing, but enough to warn off some.

Hermione snorted. Snarky and smart; bad combination for a woman looking for a date on Valentine's Day. Better to be sweet and stupid.

_Stop this idiotic pity party, Miss Granger. There's no use._ She scolded herself. _If you want a bloody valentine and chocolates, go out and buy them yourself. _

"Fine! I will!" She shouted to no one in particular. Gathering up her cloak, she opened the door and slammed it behind her. Since Valentine's Day fell on a Friday, the students were allowed to go into Hogsmeade. She snarled at Filch as he checked her permission form, and left as soon as he grudgingly gave her a nod.

Minutes later, she was in front of Honeyduke's. _This is pathetic. I can't believe I'm going to buy myself chocolate on Valentine's Day. _

Bypassing all the gaudily wrapped pink and red boxes, she quickly went to the aisle labeled Chocolate, and picked out some Chocolate Frogs and a few Caramel Clues. The latter featured an ongoing mystery, with weekly clue updates. When the customer bit into it, they were shown another puzzle piece. Hermione only bought them for the chocolate; she'd solved the mystery a month ago.

About to walk up to the cashier, a display caught her eye. She raised a brow. Chocolate Kisses? Those were Muggle candies. The clerk realized where she was looking and answered her tacit question.

"Ah yes, those just came in this week. Fashioned after Hershey's, the famous Muggle corporation, they're spelled to simulate being kissed. They still taste of chocolate of course, and melt in your tongue after a while. I've heard wonderful reports so far."

Hermione smiled to herself. _Why not?_ She picked up a bag.

After paying, she thanked the man, and stepped outside. And walked right into something.

"Miss Granger, you seem to have a penchant for running into things. It would behoove you to curb it, before you find yourself in an unpleasant situation." Professor Snape, of course. Who else would possibly knock into her while she was buying pity chocolate? She was about to snap back a snarky comment about already being in an unpleasant situation, but decided against it. Again, she simply assented, leaving him puzzled by her lack of insolence.

While she was walking away, the thought came to her that Professor Snape had a sweet tooth. She didn't bother to dwell on that, because she still needed to make certain that the potion was ready for later. The new moon had finally come (or was that gone?) and the potion had to be made that night. Hermione decided to definitely take dinner in her rooms and take a quick nap.

After a lonely Valentine dinner for one, she fell onto her bed, suddenly very tired, physically, mentally, emotionally tired. The burden on her shoulders compressed her chest and choked her throat. She felt an urge to run down to the common room, rip her heart out of its shell, and put it on the table. Would anyone care, or would they leave it there to beat, bleed, eventually stop, and then complain about the bloodstains?

She wanted to run away, go home, stick her bare feet into rich brown soil filled with worms, and feel life soak her skin and pulse through her veins again. The cold stone threatened to suck all her body's warmth.

Tears streamed down her face. She called to Crookshanks, wanting some physical contact, some comfort. He didn't come. Depressed, she turned to her pillow and cried until her eyes and nose were red. And fell asleep.

She awoke a few hours later, close to nine o'clock, and realized that her pity party had cost her precious time. Forcing down her anger and depression, she went over to the cauldron.

A deep blue color, so dark as to reflect black in its depths, the potion held her mesmerized. Flickering candlelight winked over its surface, hinting at temptations and desires; it offered that which she yearned for most. Hermione would have been swallowed by the potion, seduced by its visions, had it not been for her cat.

Startled out of her trance, Hermione smiled sheepishly at Crookshanks. He gave her a reproachful look as if to agree with her sentiments, then butted his head against her again, and she laughed.

"Guess it wasn't concern for me after all," she said as she picked him up and began petting. "Just self-interest." He ignored her philosophical babbling and purred, settling down for a good rubbing.

Hermione stroked him absently, trying to remember the visions. They evaded her, like a familiar melody that stayed just out of memory's edge. All she remember was a sense of awe and desire.

"Obviously," she said to her indifferent cat, "that potion is dangerous." Again she laughed, albeit shakily. "All that time collecting rare and powerful ingredients, and it takes a cat bumping into my leg to let me know the potion is dangerous. And you're not even black. Unsurprisingly, he ignored her.

"OK. OFF you go." With that, she deposited him on the bed, ignoring his indignant glare. "I have work to do." The potion waited, its siren song silently calling.


End file.
